


let's not mention the lucky charms boxers

by nimic



Category: AR∀GO ロンドン市警特殊犯罪捜査官 | Arago
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, i'm not gonna reveal what the angst is about but tbh u should Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 19:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15031718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimic/pseuds/nimic
Summary: Sometimes there are small mercies, too bad you have to suffer your entire life to get them.





	let's not mention the lucky charms boxers

**Author's Note:**

> soulmate-words AU for two of my best boys, who have suffered too much and only deserve the best.  
> i wanted to add more to this but couldn't think of anything so.. .;; i gave up lol

**** “I have no power,” the stranger says, and Arago feels the words burn into him, ink themselves deeper into the skin on his left thigh.

It suits him, he thinks. For all that Arago has only known this other man for two minutes (at most), he finds that the words and the handwriting he’s always loved suit the guy. He can practically see them now, looking the same as they always have in the mirror, or beneath his hand as he lay alone at night (not crying- never crying) (hoping, maybe). Ink just a shade paler than black, thick with weight, strokes smooth and quick. Bare-bones and functional, but somehow still pretty. 

It matches the image of the man in front of him.

He’s barely got a second to properly absorb that the man in front of him is his soulmate before the fight starts up again. His hand reaches forward- closes around the smoke that is flooding the room. 

He was worried before, about the red horseman, but now he can feel dread trying to settle in him,  _ now that’s his soulmate fighting in front of them _ (he won’t let it) (he can’t). He has to be ready to help, ready to jump in and finish the fight. He can’t let Claíomh Solais fall into the horseman’s hands, and though he’d like to believe that his soulmate is a good person, he’s not going to trust a stranger with a “weapon of the gods”.

With a crash the ceiling falls and the smoke starts to clear. The man has the red horseman pinned to the rubble, and Arago surges forward. He makes it to the other’s side just as the horsman makes her escape (“That’s all for today” she says, and her face looks too young to be a part of this, too young to be suffering through these kinds of fights).

He wants to go after her, but his soulmate ( _ his soulmate _ ) says it’s not worth it, “You won’t catch her. We should clear out of here too.”

* * *

His name is Oswell Miller and he has a stupid sense of humour and apparently only has the one worn out extra shirt. Oz also doesn’t drop any hints that he knows they’re soulmates. Either he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about it with Joe and Seth right there (heavens know Arago isn’t), or he didn’t recognize the words when Arago said them.

He feels a tightening in his chest at the thought. Imagine going around trying to save people, trying to protect them, only to be yelled “Who the hell are you? Are you supposed to be on our side!?” every time. Having nothing but good intentions, and being questioned at every turn (it hits a bit too close to home).

And he’s gotta question the guy again.

Oz is… surprisingly unbothered by Arago’s distrust. He smiles like he understands (he does), and Arago is distinctly aware of the words on his thigh for the length of the ride back to the precinct.

* * *

Arago waits for everyone to clear out of Oz’s office before broaching the subject. He’s never been one for subtlety, and he’s not gonna let some nerves get in the way now.

He locks eyes with Oz, whose smile doesn’t shift. “I have your words on me,” he says.

_ Now  _ Oz’s smile thins into a line. People’s words are no joking matter; lying about them or using them to manipulate others are unforgivable.

“Really now. What are they then?” asks Oz, voice cold and hard (Arago doesn’t want to think about the pain Oz is hiding with his tone).

“The first words you said, to  _ me _ in particular, were “I have no power”. I think the ones I said were ‘Who the hell are you’ or something.” He pauses, breaks eye contact and shifts nervously. He can feel the heat crawling up his neck and the blush spreading on his cheeks. “If- if you close the blinds… I can show you.”

Oz doesn’t move. Showing someone your words when they aren’t easily visible is a sign of trust. They’ve only known each other for a few hours at most, part spent in silence, another part spent fighting, and a last bit with strangers between them. 

Oz sighs, almost like he’s resigned himself to something unpleasant (Arago doesn’t want to admit that it stings. He refuses to let himself get angry because  _ I’m the one putting myself at your mercy- _ ). “Get the door, I’ll take care of the blinds,” Oz says, and turns around.

Arago blinks once. Twice. Scrambles to shut the door and click the lock into place. When he turns around, Oz is leaning on his desk, arms crossed tight, waiting. He swallows, takes a few steps closer,  _ This is gonna be awkward as hell _ , and reaches for his belt. Oz raises a brow and Arago pouts, “If you laugh at my boxers I swear to the gods above- I’ll make you regret it.”

Oz smiles and Arago sees his arms loosen slightly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Arago drops his pants and Oz… Oz doesn’t gasp, doesn’t laugh at his Lucky Charms boxers, doesn’t move. The changes in him are subtle: his eyes widen a bit, his body tilts forward slightly, he looks like he’s on the verge of uncrossing his arms. He  _ looks  _ like he doesn’t believe Arago could possibly have those words,  _ his  _ words, tattooed right there. Oz lets out a stuttering breath, but he doesn’t reach forward, instead, he goes for his own shirt and pulls it off, not taking his eyes off Arago’s thigh. He closes the distance between them smoothly, and turns around as if it’s painful for him to look away.

The words “ _ Who the hell are you?” _ sit, clean and dark in the middle of his Oz’s back, untouched by the scars that map his body. Arago feels his breath catch. He almost gives in to the urge to reach out and run the pads of his fingers over the words, over the smooth skin. His hand hovers over them (he can’t touch Oz and, god, he can feel the hurt pulsing through his fingers, in his veins). When the words don’t disappear after a bit, like some sort of mirage, it starts to really sink in.

_ This is my soulmate. _

A feeling of yearning pulses through him suddenly, his breath catches again.  _ Oh god this is my soulmate _ . He wants to- laugh? Cry? The words in front of him blur and he’s pretty sure his hand is trembling. What was it Seth had said?  _ Excess of sorrow laughs, excess of joy weeps _ ? He’s terrified. They’ve both got so many scars, so much fighting to do. His soulmate is tall and strong and handsome and smart and well put-together and reliable and Arago wants to cry because he doesn’t deserve someone so good.  _ Ewan and Rio may never get to be together again. _

His throat closes up and he can feel his lips trembling too now. He wants to laugh because there’s no way something this good could be happening to him. Tears are pricking at his eyes when Oz turns around. His arm brushing Arago’s hand to the side makes him stop for a moment. Oz reaches up to Arago’s face and Arago flinches, holds his breath, anticipating the shock from the touch. Oz’s hand pauses, hovers for a second, his eyes searching Arago’s face, before slowly continuing the movement. 

Oz’s skin is rough, calloused, but incredibly warm, and his touch is surprisingly light. Arago feels tears well up in his eyes, can’t feel anything beyond the prickling, beyond the warmth Oz radiates, beyond the stark  _ relief _ that, by some miracle,  _ his soulmate can touch him _ . 

The tears spill over quickly enough, he can’t catch his breath and his throat is closed up with emotion. One hand reaches up to grip Oz’s forearm (he wants to hold on as tightly as he can and never let go) (he can’t gather the strength for it) (he can feel his knees giving out already), the other covers his own mouth, tries to muffle the sobs. 

Oz snakes his hand further back to cement his grip behind Arago’s neck, pulls his soulmate closer so he can support the trembling weight. He rests his other hand on Arago’s shoulder, slowly pulls them down to the floor, and Arago chokes on a sob. His soulmate doesn’t even know- he’s being so  _ nice _ . Arago feels the hand on his neck pull him closer again, feels the body in front of him mechanically untense every time it tenses up (every time Arago’s own body shivers).

They sit there for a while, until the slivers of light making it through the blinds have crawled a few inches further on the floor, until his sobs are reduced to sniffles, neither talking, neither moving (what words could possibly fit here? now?). 

“Sorry I- I didn’t think- Sorry…” he whispers, voice strained, not quite hoarse.

Oz chuckles, cheeks dry and tear-less but voice wet. “Yeah you should apologize, those boxers are terrible.”

Arago’s too drained to be embarrassed, he’s just- he’s so happy. He’s so grateful. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing, I’m just saying- if we’re going to make this work, this had better not be what all your boxers look like.”

Arago lets his head rest on Oz’s chest, doesn’t bother looking up when  _ his soulmate _ speaks again, “Didn’t you swear you’d make me regret it?”

“So you admit you were laughing.”

“I can’t help it, I  _ do _ have eyes, you know.”

“Hadn’t noticed, sorry.”


End file.
